A study in Grey
by naughtynyx
Summary: It's Sherlock's birthday, Molly gets him a gift-but he doesn't wear neckties.Established Sherlolly PURE SMUT! Rated M for sexy times.Please don't let the 50 shades reference deter you and give this fic a try. Please R&R!


_**A/N: So I was going to post this on my bday(on the 14th) but ff thought it would be funny and not let me sign in for days. Grr! Oh well. Anyway this is my first attempt at Sherlolly smut. I'm not sure I write smut very well-it's harder than it seems. If no one likes this, I won't do it again-maybe.**_

_**Okay, so this is loosely inspired by 50 shades of Grey–and I say loosely because I haven't actually read the book. But since everyone else in the world apparently has and they talk about it incessantly, I do know a few details: such as, the main characters use of neckties. I also know, from Sherlock's assertion that he does not wear ties. So, yeah, that's how this came about.**_

_**I mostly just wrote this as a birthday present for myself, but, I thought I'd share it with my fellow sherlolly shippers. I hope you all enjoy it!**_

_**Please R&R.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the mistakes-this is not beta'd**_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes wasn't one to celebrate his birthday; as a child the parties he had were insufferable occasions. All the kids that came to them were only there because their parents forced them to be; the sycophants. They thought that if their children befriended the younger Holmes then they would get into the good graces of the elders Holmes' It didn't work of course; the Holmes' were notorious snobs.

Sherlock spent most of the time at these parties in his makeshift laboratory he had set up in the attic of the grand Holmes mansion.

The best thing about having been sent away to boarding school at a tender age was that he didn't have to suffer through those gatherings anymore. He hadn't celebrated his birthday since he was eight. He never told anyone when his birthday was–not that many people asked. He refused to tell John out of fear his flatmate would try–and really it would be a failed attempt, wouldn't it?–to throw him a surprise party–those were the worst variety.

So when the unflappable Consulting Detective's girlfriend, pathologist Molly Hooper, showed up to 221B Baker st. on the night of his thirty-seventh year and presented him with a little black box, with a crimson ribbon tied around it, Sherlock was surprised–for all of two seconds.

The bright smile Molly had been wearing dropped at his deduction and she clucked her tongue, shoving the gift toward him. "Oh just take it will you?"

Sherlock excepted the box and shook it slightly.

"A tie?" he said, not opening it. "Molly you know I don't wear neckties."

Molly's head dipped down, a red hue suffusing her cheeks.

"Well, actually, _you_ aren't the one that will be wearing it," she informed him in a quiet voice. "I am... and not on my neck."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed curiously.

Molly rummaged about in her bag again and pulled out a book, silently handing it to Sherlock.

He glanced down at the cover. "This is inaccurate," he said. "There are much more shades of grey than this."

Molly sighed and took the book back from him. She opened the cover and flipped through the pages.

"Here." She gave it back to Sherlock. "Read this bit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and brought the book back to him. His eyes scanned the text, brows arching slightly.

"Ah," he said. "I see." He snapped the book closed and tossed it aside.

Molly stood quietly, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse while Sherlock's cool indecipherable gaze scrutinised her. She chewed on her lower lip, her stomach doing somersaults as she waited for him to react. She was beginning to think she had made a mistake; she and Sherlock had been together for a few months and had engaged in sexual intercourse many times since–and though their lovemaking was very passionate, they hadn't... _experimented_ too much. Which was a surprise to Molly considering who her partner was.

She wouldn't have thought something like this would shock him–but what if she was wrong?

She was just about to say, 'Never mind, it's fine', and run out of the room, when Sherlock's arm reached out and grabbed Molly about the waist, pulling her against hard him. Molly barely had time to let out a gasp before his mouth came down on hers roughly, muffling the sound.

When he pulled away they were both panting. A thrill went through Molly as she gazed up into Sherlock's lust-glazed eyes; the glacial iris quickly disappearing behind widening pupils. He whipped her around suddenly and pushed her down on the bed, not too hard, but not exactly gently either.

"Lie down," he commanded.

Molly scooted herself back on the mattress–kicking her shoes off as she went–and complied, lying her body down flat on the bed.

Sherlock's nimble fingers quickly worked the ribbon off the black box off and opened it. He slowly pulled out the red necktie and coiled it round his hands. He stalked predatorily toward the bed and the decumbent Molly, whose heart was racing wildly. He nudged her legs apart and put his knee between them as he crawled up on the bed. He bent down over Molly and covered her mouth with his own again in a voracious kiss.

"Put your arms over your head," he rumbled against her lips.

Molly raised her arms over her head crossing her wrists over each other.

Sherlock straightened up and began wrapping the tie around Molly's wrists, binding them to the headboard of the bed; tight, but not too tight.

Sherlock bent to take her mouth again, then moved his lips down to her neck. His hands roamed up the sides of her body and round to her front, he cupped one of her breast, giving it a light squeeze/

Molly moaned, arching up into his touch.

His deft fingers began to undo the buttons of her blouse, parting it to reveal her white-cotton bra. He swiftly undid the front clasp of it as well, freeing Molly's breast. He took one of them in his hand, rolling his thumb over the hardened nipple, while he dipped his head down and took the other into his mouth.

Normally while Sherlock was suckling her breast, Molly would fist her hands into his curls. She had the urge to do so now but couldn't do to her restraints. Her fingers still curled instinctively.

Sherlock's teeth grazed against the sensitive flesh around her nipple, he bit down lightly on the pebbled nub and pulled it between his teeth.

Molly gasped and arched her back, she writhed beneath him, tugging on her bindings. Sherlock's mouth left her breast and blazed a trail of kisses down her torso; his curly hair tickled against her flesh as his head slid down her body. He paused at her belly button; his tongue tracing the circular groove, then dipping inside and swirling around as his fingers worked the zip of her trousers and pushed them down. Molly lifted her hips obligingly as he eased them off of her.

Molly sucked her bottom lip into her mouth biting down on it hard, whimpering in anticipation as his hands slid up her thighs, his gifted, slender fingers toying with damp curls covering her sex; his thumb rolled along her cleft. Molly's hips rolled up needfully.

Sherlock kissed the spot just above her pubic bone, running his tongue along her iliac crest. Molly wriggled desperately, trying to will him lower.

Sherlock shifted so that his head was between Molly's thighs; he ran his tongue along the nexus where her leg met her hip.

Molly's breath came out in rapid pants, whimpers and moans eliciting from her mouth.

"Sherlock, please," she begged. She needed him to touch her _NOW_. "Oh please."

Sherlock kissed the inside of her thigh. Molly nudged her hips up wanting his mouth on her aching core. Sherlock gripped Molly by the sides and held her body down. He lifted his head and smiled his most wicked smile–and on Sherlock Holmes, it was very wicked. He lowered his head again, but instead of giving much needed attention to Molly's centre, he slid down and began kissing her knee. He opened his mouth and raked his teeth over the peak as his hand ran along up and down the inside of Molly's thigh.

Molly cried out in frustration as Sherlock moved to the other knee; his hand resting just against her opening. She tried pushing her legs together, desperate for any kind of friction, but Sherlock's strong hand kept them apart. She tried pulling her hands free–if he wasn't going to touch her, she'd do it herself–she tugged so hard she banged the headboard against the wall.

"Stop that, Molly," Sherlock's cool voice admonished. "You'll only make the knots tighter and hurt yourself."

"Then, _please_, just _touch_ me already. I can't take it anymore!"

One corner of Sherlock's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Well," he said, "since you said please." He pressed the length of his hand against Molly's opening.

"Mmm, more," Molly demanded, bucking up against him.

Sherlock obliged, pushing just inside of her as he moved up Molly's body again and captured her mouth.

"Good?" Sherlock murmured against her lips

"More!"

Sherlock dipped a finger inside her and began to pump it slowly in and out..

"Satisfied yet?"

"No," Molly panted raggedly. "More, please!"

Sherlock's thumb joined his index finger. He took her clit between them and rolled them over it, then pinched it lightly.

"Oh god!" Molly screamed, body flailing, head knocking back. "Oh god please..."

Sherlock pulled his hand away.

"No!" Molly wailed. "Don't stop! Put it back!"

Sherlock chuckled darkly at her desperation. He lifted himself up off the bed and slowly began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Molly's look of ire melted into awe as she gazed upon the marble flesh of Sherlock's upper body being revealed to her. She wanted to reach out and touch his toned torso–but couldn't. Sherlock moved to his belt, taking his time loosening it from his trousers. He undid his zip so slowly, Molly swore she could hear each of the teeth parting individually.

He lowered his trousers over his hips, taking his boxers down with them, his half-mast erection springing free.

Molly eyed it hungrily, licking her lips.

Sherlock wrapped his hand around his shaft and began pumping up and down slowly, his hips bucking into his hand.

Molly gulped as she watched Sherlock pleasuring himself. She closed her legs and began rubbing her thighs together hard, pressing into the mattress and writhing in earnest.

Sherlock let his head fall back, giving Molly an unobstructed view of his long smooth neck. She wanted to run her tongue along its slope.

"Oh, god, Sherlock, please, please. I need you inside me!"

Sherlock's head snapped up, his opening and blazing into Molly's. His hand stilled on his penis. The look in his eye was almost frightening and Molly was more turned on than ever. He slowly released himself and began to glide toward the bed. He crawled up on top of Molly, his hands braced on either side of her so that he was hovering above her, not touching. Molly tried to lift herself up to kiss him, but couldn't quite manage.

Sherlock dipped his head down meeting her mouth in an almost bruising, crushing kiss. His hands slipped between her legs and forced them apart again. He settled himself between her thighs and let the tip of his cock rub against her entrance. He used his fingers to part her folds and slid his head inside her.

Molly groaned. "Sherlock..."

Molly wiggled, wanting him to go deeper. He pushed into her slowly, a little bit at a time until he filled her to the hilt.

Molly cried out. "Yes! Oh god yes!" Molly screamed once Sherlock's cock was fully sheathed inside her. Finally she thought she would get some much needed relief to her throbbing centre. But, after the initial thrill of sensation having him inside her died away, she noticed that he was holding still; not giving her the friction she desired. She tried to wriggle under him, but his body had hers pinned in a way that offered her little movement.

"Uhn..." Molly groaned, too lost with want to form a coherent word.

Sherlock's lips found hers again. He kissed her as he pulled out of her slowly, then slid back in again at the same languid pace.

Molly's mouth broke away from his as her head rolled back.

"Faster. Please," she begged.

As Sherlock looked down into Molly's pleading eyes–the brown irises eclipsed entirely by her black pupils–he found himself overwhelmed by her want for him. That and finally being wrapped up in her wet heat–he was still amazed of how he seemed to fit like a glove inside her–he could no longer stand his own teasing pace.

He gave in to Molly's plea and increased his speed.

It wasn't long before she was crying out his name and as her inner walls convulsed around him, Sherlock followed with Molly's name on his lips.

Spent, Sherlock collapsed onto Molly's chest, his lips and tongue tasting her sweat. After a moment, he collected himself enough to lift himself off of her. He undid the knot in the tie and her hands fell down limply.

Sherlock lifted her right arm and began to massage her wrist, he kissed it and picked up her left, repeating the gesture.

"You know, I believe I'll have to rethink my position on neckties now," he quipped as he lifted her wrist to his mouth and kissed it.

Molly giggled. She propped herself up slowly and took the red silk tie from Sherlock. She dangled it over him, the tip of it grazing his chest. She leaned over and kissed him.

"Next time, I think you should try wearing it," she proposed.

Sherlock lifted his brows.

"Interesting idea, Molly Hooper," he purred, raising his hand to cup the back of her head. "One definitely worth exploring."

The end.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading! Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought. Concrit welcome.**_


End file.
